‘Wouldn’t know. I never used it.’
‘Where did it come from? Whose is it?’
‘It was Mum’s.’ Jade’s face showed suspicion. ‘What is this? It’s just some old box.’
‘That’s right,’ said Gemma. ‘It’s just some old box.’
•
Gemma pulled over in Eddy Avenue near the long-distance bus stands at Central. As Jade went to unlock the car door and haul her bags out, Gemma fished a lone fifty-dollar bill from her wallet. ‘Here,’ she said, thinking she was crazy but feeling responsible for the girl as well. ‘Take this, and promise me you’ll ring me if things don’t turn out. Okay? You can owe me fifty. But I want something first.’ She pulled the note back as Jade tried to grab it. ‘Tell me what you know about Jaki Hunter.’
Jade’s face was suffused with a dark red hue. ‘That bitch. I hate her.’
‘You sent her a police doll with some glass skewering it.’
‘I’m going! You can keep your lousy fifty!’
‘Okay, okay,’ said Gemma, handing it to her. ‘No strings. And I know it’s no use telling you to go home. I remember what it’s like at your age. But there’s something I should say to you. We can’t run away from problems, Jade. Especially family problems. I’ve learned that much. We carry our family with us wherever we go.’
Jade’s large dark eyes met hers. ‘No way. That’s not true.’
‘I feel really bad just dropping you off here, Jade. Not knowing how you’re going to manage.’ Short of forcibly restraining the girl, there was little Gemma could do.
‘I’ll be fine!’ said Jade, throwing open the door and jumping out.
As the girl hurried along the footpath, Gemma accelerated and drove past, glancing in her rear-vision mirror to see her disappearing into the bus office.
Thoughtfully, Gemma drove home. At least in my family, she thought, the buck stops here. She wouldn’t be raising a child who’d have to take on the legacy of the Chisholm–Lincoln family, with its distorted patterns and dark history.
When she pulled up on the road above her place, she was no longer thinking family thoughts. She sat for a long moment in her car, sightlessly staring ahead. Ideas, generated by the pearly pink stationery box and the miniature superintendent’s uniform jacket, were starting to gather momentum.
She knew she should call Natalie and say that she’d seen Jade and that the girl was getting a bus to Byron Bay. But something was preying on her mind, something that she’d overlooked so far. And no matter how hard she tried to grasp it, it slipped back like a dream into the well of her subconsciousness.
When she got inside, she checked her messages and found one from Lance from Paradigm Laboratories. Quickly, she called him.
‘Ah, Gemma. We’ve got a result for you,’ he said, ‘on that bridal dress and the sample references you sent us. We cut samples from various sections of the dress and also prepared samples from the control items – the toothbrush, etcetera.’
‘Yes, and?’ Gemma asked.
‘The blood on the dress matched the profile we got from the toothbrush – a female. Presumably belonging to the woman who owned both items.’
Steffi’s blood, thought Gemma.
‘And we also found an amount of semen. Subject unknown.’
‘Not to me,’ said Gemma, thinking of Martin Trimble.
She sat a moment in thought. Had Trimble raped and murdered Steffi in the garage? Then she rang Mark Simons at Missing Persons.
He listened and took the details. ‘Okay,’ he said when she’d finished. ‘I don’t like the sound of any of that. I’m going to pass it on to the Maroubra police.’
Next, Gemma tried Toby Boyd’s number. Still no luck. He must be out of town, she thought. ‘Call me,’ she said in the message she left. ‘I must speak to you.’
But at least now the police were taking things seriously and she didn’t feel so responsible.
•
Toby Boyd rang just as Gemma was about to make herself a meal for later, feeling relieved that she hadn’t thrown up for a couple of days. Since her shopping trip, she had a well-stocked larder and was chopping vegetables for a soup when he interrupted.
‘I’ve been trying to ring you,’ she said.
‘I’ve been following Martin Trimble. He’s staying at a flat in Bondi. I’ve had him under surveillance.’
Gemma was about to tell him the Paradigm results but stopped. If Toby heard that, he might do something stupid.
‘Look,’ she said. ‘I’ve got some news but I want to deliver it personally.’
‘Have you found Steffi?’ His voice brightened.
Far from it, she thought.
‘Tell me where you are and I’ll meet you there in about half an hour.’
•
Gemma spotted Toby Boyd parked near the grounds of a large public school, and hurried over to him.
‘You’ve got a cow of a job,’ he said, as she slid in beside him. ‘I’ve had a taste of it over the last couple of days.’
‘Surveillance isn’t much fun,’ she said. ‘Where’s Trimble staying?’
Toby pointed to a liver-brick block of flats with square balconies overlooking the street. ‘It’s that flat with the beach towels hanging up, near the top of the frangipani tree.’
Gemma followed his pointing finger past the bare limbs of the frangipani.
‘His friends went out so he’s probably alone in there. He doesn’t go out much. Down to the bottle shop or the corner shop for a newspaper. Don’t know how he’s living.’ He turned to her warily. ‘What’s the new information you have?’
‘Toby,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t sound good. I’ve alerted the police and they’ll want to talk to Trimble.’
‘Tell me. What is it?’
‘I ordered a DNA test on a wedding dress found in Trimble’s garage.’
‘Steffi’s dress? With the coloured spots?’
She nodded.
‘And?’
‘The lab got a positive result for human blood. And a profile, Steffi’s profile.’
She saw him digest that.
‘And there was also another genetic deposit. Semen.’
It took a couple of seconds, then Toby Boyd’s face darkened. ‘That bastard!’ He swung his door open and was out and halfway across the road before Gemma caught up with him.
‘Toby, no!’ she cried, trying to stop him without using an obvious restraining hold in public. ‘Don’t do this. Let the police do it. That’s their job. I’ve alerted them. They’ll get a warrant and do it the proper way.’
‘I’ll kill him! Let me go! I don’t want to hurt you, but I’m going in there! Please, stand aside, Gemma.’
‘Toby, there could be another explanation. It’s a police matter. You can’t take the law into your own hands.’
‘Like hell I can’t!’ he said, breaking away from her. Toby Boyd was a big man and Gemma decided to let him go. As he raced across the road and into the block of flats, Gemma whipped out her mobile and called Angie.
‘What do you expect me to do about it?’ asked Angie.
‘Lean on the Maroubra police,’ said Gemma. ‘Get them moving. This guy’s really furious. He could do something rash.’
Gemma raced across the road after Toby. She could hear the altercation from the terrazzo-floored foyer of the building, and as she ran up the steps she could see the door to one of the flats standing open. God, she thought, I’m fed up with this life. Here she was about to make a citizen’s arrest. Toby Boyd would sue her for assault.
She ran in to find Martin Trimble whimpering on the floor.
Toby Boyd kicked him hard.
‘Stop it, Toby!’ Gemma shouted. ‘You’ll end up wearing an assault charge. Just stop it right now!’
‘Help me!’ screamed Trimble, his nose streaming blood, trying to crawl away from the kicks and blows Toby Boyd showered on him.
‘Where is she, you mongrel?’ Toby yelled, delivering another kick. ‘What have you done with my sister?’
Trimble had reached the wall and was pressed up against it, as if trying to pass through it.
Boyd reached down and grabbed Trimble. The beaten man was shivering like a whipped dog and Gemma could see a wet patch at the front of his jeans.
‘Toby! That’s enough!’ she ordered, jumping on his back. But he shook her off without turning round, lashing out with a backwards kick to her shin. Gemma howled with pain and staggered back, hopping, to collapse against the wall.
‘I’ll tell you what happened! Just stop it!’ sobbed Trimble. ‘Stop it. Please. I’ll tell you!’
‘He’s going to tell you!’ Gemma screamed as Toby ran with Trimble against the opposite wall, crashing him into it and pinning him. ‘Stop it!’ she yelled. ‘You’ll kill him!’
‘Okay,’ said Toby. ‘Tell me, you mongrel. The truth or I swear I’ll kill you.’
‘Let me go first.’
Finally, slowly, Toby Boyd let go and Martin Trimble, his teeth red with blood and his nose already starting to swell, staggered to a couch and collapsed.
‘Steffi’s okay,’ he said. ‘I swear. She’s not dead or anything. She .
.
. she left because she .
.
. she walked in while I was –’
‘While you were what? Screwing someone else?’ roared Toby. ‘Is that it?’
‘No! I wasn’t doing that. I was .
.
. I was doing something that she didn’t like. That’s all. She got angry. She hit me.’
Trimble dragged a handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose, then folded the bloody square up and pressed it against the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stop the bleeding.
‘Tell me what happened!’
‘I lost my temper and I hit her back.’
‘You hit her? You hit my sister?’ Toby Boyd yelled, raising his fist again.
‘I didn’t mean to! She hurt me and I just lashed out. I slapped her. She was carrying on, hysterical.’
‘Her wedding dress is bloodstained! Her blood! Why was she bleeding?’
Why was Steffi wearing her wedding dress, Gemma wondered, as Toby Boyd continued to glower at the bleeding man huddled on the couch. Slowly, Toby lowered his raised fist.
‘It’s okay, Trimble,’ said Gemma. ‘It’s only a nose bleed. Tilt your head back.’
He did as she directed, looking warily at Toby Boyd all the while. Between herself and Toby, they’d set up a good cop, bad cop dynamic.
‘Why is Steffi’s blood on the wedding dress?’ she asked.
‘Her lip bled,’ Trimble mumbled. ‘It wasn’t a serious smack, but it split the skin on her lip.’
‘You’re lying!’
‘Take it easy, Toby,’ warned Gemma, as Toby Boyd started to shape up again.
‘I swear that’s all it was. I clipped her over the face and her lip bled. Just like my nose is bleeding now because of this maniac here.’ Frowning, Trimble examined the contents of his saturated handkerchief. ‘It won’t stop bleeding,’ he muttered.
‘Why was Steffi wearing her wedding dress, Martin?’ Gemma asked.
Trimble looked away.
‘You told me the other day that Steffi just came home and packed up. Now you’re telling us she had her wedding dress on? That doesn’t make sense.’
Martin Trimble dabbed at his bloody nose in silence.
‘Come on, Martin,’ said Gemma. ‘I want an answer. Now. Otherwise I’m out of here and he can take over.’
She jerked a thumb at Toby Boyd, silently cursing him for the damage he’d done to her shin bone, where a dull ache was now spreading both up and down.
‘She wasn’t wearing her wedding dress at all, was she?’ Gemma said.
Toby Boyd swung round. ‘But you just asked why she was wearing it. Her blood’s on it. She must have been wearing it – or holding it.’
‘Tell us, Martin,’ said Gemma. ‘Tell us about the wedding dress.’
Another long silence.
Gemma sat on the edge of a lounge chair, leaning forward, closer to Trimble. Blood and semen, Lance’s findings on the samples he’d cut, she recalled.
‘Okay,’ she said finally. ‘I’m going to tell you then. Steffi wasn’t wearing her wedding dress. You were. You like to dress up in women’s clothing. Isn’t that right?’
Toby Boyd stood staring down at the huddled figure. The surfing entrepreneur had diminished to a pathetic figure dabbing a bloody nose.
‘You get off dressing up in women’s clothes and masturbating,’ Gemma continued.
Trimble huddled smaller still, not looking at either of them, and Gemma experienced a pang of compassion for his humiliation.
‘That’s what happened, isn’t it, Martin? You were wearing Steffi’s wedding dress and masturbating in the garage and she unexpectedly walked in on you. You were so engrossed in your activity you didn’t hear her arrive.’
Toby Boyd’s face went from incredulity to disgust. ‘You pathetic perv!’ he said. ‘You sicko!’
‘Leave it, Toby,’ Gemma said as Martin Trimble hunched forward over his knees, hiding his face. ‘He didn’t murder your sister.’
‘But why did you let everyone think you’d killed her?’ Boyd persisted. ‘Why put yourself through all this?’
Martin Trimble remained silent. He’d rather people believed him to be a murderer, Gemma thought, than talk about what really happened.
‘Come on, Toby,’ she said, limping to her feet. ‘Time we got going.’
‘But where’s Steffi?’
‘He doesn’t know. Come on.’
She almost had to drag Toby Boyd outside. Then they stood a moment beside his car.
‘Put yourself in her shoes for a minute,’ said Gemma. ‘If I’d been in love with a man and then walked in on him wearing my wedding dress and wanking, I’d want to run away too.’
‘But why the hell wouldn’t she let me know?’
‘Toby, she probably didn’t want to have to explain anything. You’ve always disliked Trimble. Something like this – well, it’s too embarrassing for her to admit that you had a point. And what a point!’
Gemma started walking back to her car, then turned. ‘It would be very demoralising,’ she said, ‘to find that the man you loved was far more interested in your frocks than in you.’
•
Once home, Gemma had a bath, lying back in bubbles, like Natalie Finn in the escort agency’s bathroom. Gemma couldn’t stop her mind from racing with theories. Natalie had the oldest motive in the world – jealousy – to set up her rival, Jaki Hunter. And because of her police background and contacts, she’d have the know-how to do it: leave a false trail and dispose of the weapon. But when? And how? Donny would have bled to death in a few minutes. Would she have left her son like that while she hid the weapon? And the shooting of Donovan made no sense in this scenario unless it was an accident. She’d stopped the bleeding as best she could and rung the ambulance. If she’d wanted to take time to hide the weapon, it made much better sense to let the boy die. No witnesses, and enough unpressured time to find a good hiding place before the emergency people arrived. From then on, she’d been at the hospital for hours. No chance to slip away and hide a bulky weapon. The boy must have been running downstairs as the murders were in progress, and his actions had spooked the shooter who instinctively squeezed the trigger.
Gemma topped the bath up with hot water. But for this theory to have any legitimacy, Natalie must have known Jaki’s identity, and so far there was no absolute proof of this. Apart from a photograph in
Police Service Weekly
– merely another of hundreds of similar staff snaps taken over the year – there was nothing to link Jaki with the superintendent. And despite Jaki’s claim that Natalie was a brilliant poker player, Gemma knew that there were certain autonomic responses that were impossible to control, unless one was a yogi in Tibet: increased heart rate and breathing, flushing of the skin. Jaki’s presence that day in Angie’s office hadn’t caused the slightest difference in Natalie’s manner.
Then again, Jade had known the identity of her father’s mistress. And if the daughter knew, maybe the mother did too. Then Gemma shook her head. Jade had refused to have anything to do with her mother for weeks, or her friends. She’d withdrawn into herself, not shared her worries with her mother. It was unlikely she’d have told Natalie about Jaki Hunter; instead, she’d expressed her anger her own way – by sending Jaki the voodoo doll.
Gemma lay back in the bath, tired of trying to work things out. She raised her body so that the swell of her belly broke through the bubbles. She could see no change in the external landscape of her abdomen, yet underneath the soapy skin, housed in its nest, a tiny being pulsed away. In order to prevent herself thinking of what was going to happen very soon at Family Planning, she deliberately thought of Steffi Boyd’s wedding dress and how it had contained a secret, which, when properly uncovered, had revealed the whole sad story. All that had been needed was the DNA testing of the fabric, the cutting of some samples. DNA testing and the cutting of samples from the body of the dress, her mind repeated.
The mini-tsunami Gemma created when she suddenly sat up washed over the edge of the bath.
The cutting of samples!
She jumped up and grabbed her towel, wrapping it round herself, then hurried into the bedroom, drying and dressing as fast as she could.